


Apartment 87

by RadiatorfromSpace



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Loki may or may not be a sociopath, M/M, Modern human AU, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadiatorfromSpace/pseuds/RadiatorfromSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor finds a strange man named Loki hanging from his window ledge, obviously about to burgle his apartment.</p><p>Writing prompt: 'you found me hanging by my fingertips from your window and i don't want to tell you i was trying to rob you but idk how else to explain this and i don't want to go to jail and also you're kind of cute we should make out when i'm not clinging onto your window ledge for my life' au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apartment 87

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Apartment 87：公寓87号](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013713) by [Maryandmathew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maryandmathew/pseuds/Maryandmathew)



Loki hangs from the ledge of an apartment window on the thirty-fifth floor. He is clad in black from head to toe. He’s wearing gloves and a small, compact backpack that is clearly intended to carry specialty gear. He is a robber. No one would think otherwise from giving him even a second’s glance. He knows this.  
  
Big Blondie (BB) is staring down at him, rage and disbelief turning his tan face red. He owns the building. He knows there are guard rails on the roof above this window. He _put_ them there. It is physically impossible for someone to wind up on his window ledge as a result of jumping from the roof.  
  
Blatant impossibilities have never stopped Loki before.  
  
A few strands of BB’s hair have come loose from his ponytail. The vein in his forehead is sticking out. He sucks in a deep breath, opens his mouth to speak, and freezes.  
  
At that very moment, two fat tears roll from Loki’s eyes. His chest quakes as though he is vitally wounded.  
  
“My, my, my Mother,” he stammers, wide-eyed and overwrought, to the blond man who was just about shove him off the ledge. “Da left us—some bint who _didn’_ t have cancer. My—M-mother—Dr. Reginald said the chemo wasn’t working.”  
  
He sobs. Impulse or instinct tells him to relax his grip, so he does. He begins to slip, and instantly BB’s huge hand has caught his wrist.  
  
BB is staring at him. He looks uncertain. Loki doesn’t break eye contact for a millisecond.  
  
“I didn’t wanna be alone,” Loki releases a breathy sob, like the wind has just been knocked out of him. “I didn’t wanna be alone.”  
  
Then he is swaddled in a toasty warm blanket on BB’s buttery leather couch. BB is in the kitchen, making him hot chocolate. Loki didn’t even request it.  
  
BB's name is Thor, he works out a lot, he’s a recovered drug addict, he found the path back to health and control over his life through paganism, and he, too, has lost a parent in tragic circumstances. He listens, empathizes, and murmurs comforting things at all the right moments in the sob story Loki spills as quickly as it comes to mind. Loki weaves drug addiction into his father’s story. Loki shudders as he confesses to shameful, embarrassing things he did to help his father hide his addiction. Thor immediately understands. Loki shares what were his dreams for his future, and Thor, of course, challenges him, insists he can reach his goals. Loki has potential, he can _tell_. In the beginning, Thor’s hand was on his shoulder. Now, he is cradling Loki in his arms, on his lap.  
  
The conversation dwindles. Thor hands him the hot chocolate and Loki takes a pitiable sip. Thor shakes his head and presses a kiss to Loki’s forehead. Loki can’t remember liking any sensation as much as the feeling of Thor’s warm, protective embrace.  
  
Well, that’s enough.  
  
Loki's eyes abruptly dry, his cheeks return to their normal pallor, and his air of vulnerability disintegrates. He rises from the couch and walks towards the door, letting the blanket simply fall from his form.  
  
“Hey!” Thor calls after him. _“Hey!”_ He sounds angry. He must have remembered how they met.  
  
Thor backs him against a wall, his big hands on either side of Loki’s head. Thor’s lips curl in a snarl.  
  
One of Loki’s talents is precognition: he has always known when someone was about to punch him, with exactly three seconds warning.  
  
He tries humor. “You should go to a doctor. You have blood pressure problems. At your age? No bueno!”  
  
Loki’s precognition is pinging him again.  
  
“Heeeeeeey, what are you into? You kinky? I’m up for a lot of stuff,” he says with a shit-eating grin and a lissome grind of his hips. That shocks Thor. He backs up a step and stares.  
  
Loki’s sense of self-preservation is like his guidance counselors in school: they just can’t seem to reach him. So he doesn’t take the opportunity to bolt out the door. Instead he walks into Thor’s kitchen. He starts opening cupboards and examining his unwilling host’s foodstuffs.  
  
He hears Thor stomp wordlessly into the kitchen behind him. He places a heavy hand on Loki’s shoulder and turns him back around. Then Loki changes again. His eyes are big, beautiful, and unguarded, and it makes his face utterly stunning. He isn’t even trying this time, and somehow Thor can tell.  
  
Loki leans into Thor. His voice becomes intimate and trusting, as though he hasn’t just tried to rob the guy. “You are beautiful. You’re like the All American dream. I bet no one ever bullied you. Growing up, I always, _always_ wished I coulda had blond hair and a winning smile like yours. Plus all the muscle would’ve helped. You know how fucking lucky you are? Whoever you marry, that lady’s gonna count herself the luckiest woman in the world.” He raises a hand to Thor’s cheek and strokes it tenderly. “The luckiest damn lady in the world,” he murmurs dreamily.  
  
Thor’s shoulders slump and his mouth drops open. The gears in his head are turning wildly. It looks like it hurts.  
  
Thor says nothing. He throws his arms up in the air and simply walks out of the kitchen. Loki peeks around the corner and watches the blond throw himself down on his buttery soft couch.  
  
Loki finds a takeout container in the refrigerator. Ooh, turkey club!  
  
“Any chance you could bring me a beer?” Thor asks from the couch. Loki walks over and hands him a Belgian draft as he takes a bite out of Thor’s sandwich.  
  
“Thanks,” Thor mutters. He glances at Loki’s face and does a double-take. “You’re high,” he observes suddenly. “You’re not crazy, you’re _high_.”  
  
“A leetle beet,” Loki giggles. He pulls the meth out of his backpack and offers it to Thor. “Want some?”  
  
Thor grabs it and runs to the window. He throws it open and flings the package out. Then he slams the window shut and storms back over to Loki. He looks shaken.  
  
“I get that when _you_ tell a drug addiction story, it’s a ruse. My recovery isn’t. Does eight years clean mean nothing to you?!”  
  
Loki swallows and takes a sip from Thor’s beer.  
  
“Will eight years clean mean nothing to you _when you come down?_ ”  
  
“I think so, yeh,” Loki says.  
  
Thor is about to ask a question, then thinks better of it. He dumps the contents of Loki’s backpack onto the floor, probably checking for more drugs. When he’s satisfied, he replaces everything and zips it back up. He throws himself back onto the couch with a groan. He starts massaging his temples.  
  
“Hey,” Loki says as he sits on Thor’s thighs. Thor glares at him. Loki rises. “Sorry.”  
  
“So I’m a pretty bad guest when I’m high,” Loki offers as an almost-apology. It doesn’t earn him anything.  
  
“You have a beautiful home.” Loki winces. How’d they meet again?  
  
“You want a new sandwich? I’ll replace it.”  
  
Thor groans again. “Can you just leave?”  
  
The couple of hours before he last snorted coke come back to Loki. He looks pointedly away, evaluates, cringes. Oh, no, he’d forgotten about that.  
  
“Prolly not.”  
  
Thor gives him a stony glare. _“Why.”_ It’s a demand, not a question.  
  
Loki cringes and jigs his leg a bit.  “Someone’s lookin’ for me?”  
  
“The police.”  
  
Loki shakes his head.  
  
“Worse than the police.”  
  
Loki nods.  
  
“Fffffuuuuuck.” Thor’s head falls back against the armrest. He downs his beer and starts massaging his temples again.  
  
“Hey, lemme,” Loki says and straddles Thor’s waist. Before Thor can protest or push him off, Loki begins to work his magic.  
  
He smoothes his thumbs over the muscles that stretch from brow to scalp, then progresses downwards, addressing temple, cheek, jaw, and even the scalene muscles in his neck. He makes a circuit. His touch is initially feather-light. As Thor’s nerve endings become desensitized, he applies more pressure.  
  
He can feel Thor’s anger fading.  
  
Loki takes a minute break and returns with four more beers. He gets Thor to roll over and then Loki sets in on the blond’s back. His trapezius muscles are riddled with knots and there are a few kinks in his lats. He devotes himself to transforming these knots into warm, supple, relaxed muscle. He keeps his pace steady as he strokes, occasionally narrating his actions in a soft, warm murmur.  
  
Two hours later, he moves to Thor’s arms.  
  
~  
  
There are eight empty beers and a half empty bottle of Wild Turkey on the coffee table. Both of their shirts and hair ties disappeared at some point during the massage.  
  
“You’re not so bad when the crazy stops,” Thor says as Loki grinds his ass into his lap.  
  
“Yea, that’s what they tell me,” Loki says with a smirk. He leans down for a kiss. Thor flips them so he can pin Loki beneath him. He grinds down, Loki grinds up, and their tongues consider swapping mouths.  
  
Thor starts working Loki out of his tight, dark wash jeans while Loki runs his hands over the blond’s seemingly endless muscles. Loki groans quietly as Thor brings their cocks together. They grind and buck and stroke until they spatter over each other’s stomachs. Thor procures paper towels and then they make out lazily on the couch beneath the toasty blanket Loki previously abandoned on the floor.  
  
The doorbell rings with their take out. Thor puts his clothes back on to get the door.  
  
Of course, Loki’s first impulse is to take this opportunity to find his mark in Thor’s bedroom, but he can’t take his eyes off of the big blond. When the door swings in, the shiny, gold numbers on the door startle him.  
  
Thor comes back to the couch with their Thai food. He pulls Loki onto his lap and starts sucking a hickey into his neck.  
  
“Shit, fuck,” Loki says with a groan. “This is _78_. I was supposed to rob 87.”

**Author's Note:**

> Same handle as on [Tumblr.](http://radiatorfromspace.tumblr.com)


End file.
